Mr. Brading's Collection by Patricia Wentworth - Miss Silver 17 - Mr. Brading's Collection

Author:Patricia Wentworth - Miss Silver 17 - Mr. Brading's Collection [Wentworth, Patricia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780727815040
Google: Nn7xSUL3uL8C
Amazon: 0727815040
Barnesnoble: 0727815040
Goodreads: 12666292
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 1987-12-16T16:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-TWO

AT ABOUT THE same time that Charles and Stacy were talking at Saltings Randal March got out of his car, walked into the hall at Warne House, and enquired for Miss Maud Silver. Edna Snagge thought him a very good-looking man. She could admire Charles Forrest with his dark ugly charm, and she could admire as different a type as Randal March with his fair hair burned brown, his steady blue eyes, his look of health. She thought Miss Silver no end lucky to have the two of them coming to see her one after the other and nothing to bring them so far as she knew. She went to find her, and received a gracious word of explanation.

‘Mr. March? Oh, yes — certainly. He is an old pupil of mine. So kind and attentive of him to call.’

Edna said, ‘I’ve put him in the little writing-room. You won’t be disturbed there.’

She received a beaming smile.

The little writing-room was on the shady side of the house. On cold, dull days it had been stigmatised as a gloomy hole. On a hot evening like this it had its points, but it was never a popular resort. Miss Silver reflected that their conversation was not likely to be interrupted.

She found the Chief Constable standing with his back to a funerary mantelpiece carried out in black marble. The clock matched it, but was relieved by little gold turrets. A shadowy engraving of what was probably some famous battle picture was hardly to be distinguished from the surrounding wallpaper.

Greetings of the most affectionate nature passed, to be followed by enquiries for his mother — ‘I was so concerned to hear about her having had a cold’ — and about his sisters, Margaret and Isobel.

Difficult as it was to believe it now, Randal March had been a delicate little boy, and it was for this reason that he had shared his sisters’ schoolroom. He had also been very much spoilt. Having successfully routed two governesses, he had regarded Miss Silver’s arrival as the provision of more cannon-fodder. The local doctor had opined that it would do him harm to be thwarted. Miss Silver, after listening sympathetically to all Mrs. March had to say, dismissed it from her mind and proceeded to establish the cheerful discipline which she was accustomed to maintain in her schoolroom. Randal found his energies provided with a more interesting outlet than naughtiness. He conceived a high respect for his teacher which remained in full force down to the present moment. For her part, though she had never allowed herself to have favourites and was always scrupulous in her enquiries for his sisters, it was an unadmitted fact that her affectionate feeling for Randal was of a more spontaneous character.

Preliminaries over, she seated herself, took out her knitting, and revealed the inch-wide strip of soft pale pink wool which indicated that a baby’s vest was in process of construction.

Randal March sat down opposite to her and said, ‘Well?’

She gave a little cough.

‘Well, Randal?’

‘All right, I’ll deal.

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